I’m not one to run away from my failures. It’s been months since I began commenting on Beyoncé’s Instagram photos and not once has a comment led to a “favorite,” a follow-back, or an @ reply—much less a genuine relationship. These mounting unrequited bits of affection, which to some might signify the mind of a romantically adept gentleman with the heart of Cupid, the angel of love, whose single error is that he has heartbreakingly chosen the wrong target for his tender arrows, to me signify only progress. Steps made on the path to achieving my ultimate goal. No, she has not made any attempt to confirm that she has so much as read my notes, but did I expect immediate results? And if I did, have I not revised that expectation to meet my current reality?

Of course, my self-esteem allows for the possibility of some close calls.

I imagine Beyoncé in her dressing room after a performance, checking the response to her latest Instagram photo—a shot from one of her concerts, her figure silhouetted against the dark stage. She scrolls past the usual comments. “I LOVEYOUBEY!!!!”s blur together; she doesn’t even pause to give those followers the tiny flutter of visibility one feels when a celebrity’s eyes pass over his or her Instagram username. Then, just before Beyoncé gives up on finding anything worthwhile among the thousands of comments, her breath catches in her chest. She reads the comment aloud, slowly:

“u look so good, proud of u sexy lol, bleep bloop.”

Whoa.

She giggles, allowing herself to imagine a life in which she might pursue this man, this xMarryMeBeyonce420x—but only until her husband, Jay-Z, walks in. “Bey, I’m tired. Let’s go home to one of our mansions.” She nods as the fantasy fades. Arrgh. So close!

While that is certainly the instance I’ve spent the most time imagining, another time I like to think I came close was when, after Beyoncé posted a photo in which she posed on a bicycle, I commented:

“‘i want 2 ride my bicycle’ lol #queen #queenbey love u sexy.”

As it was coupled with the bicycle emoji, I think this was the closest she’s ever come to clicking through to my profile, divorcing Jay-Z, and giving this 17-year-old man from Missouri a chance.

That is, the closest she’s ever come… until today.

At this point I do think that it would make sense to impart some of the wisdom I’ve gained from months of Instagram commenting (formerly on Taylor Swift photos, currently on Beyoncé photos, as you know). You’ve got to find a balance between bold and lighthearted. Let her know that you think she looks good, but add an “lol” so she knows both that you have a sense of humor and that you understand the slight absurdity found in such a forward comment. Point out something specific. Is it a screenshot, and can you tell by the screenshot that her cell phone’s battery is running low? Hit her with, “looks like sOOomebodys gotta charge her phone lol.” Humans, even celebrities, love being seen.

Oh, and you might be wondering why, after a perfectly good Instagram comment, I added “bleep bloop.” Let me answer your question with a question of my own: After you read those tossed-off, silly words, did I seem a little more chill? A little bit more like a funny, cool, chill, handsome guy? Exactly.

How will I think back on my life before Beyoncé and I got together? More importantly, how will she think back on all of those months spent ignoring my pursuits? Oh, I hope she doesn’t feel too guilty. Of course I’ll stress that I understand why she was so slow to accept my advances—she is one of the most famous people in the world, and I was but one voice in a sea of “fans.” Ha-ha, how silly that term will seem then. Her man, once a mere fan. I’m smiling at the thought of it.

That isn’t to say that the pain won’t exist. While I’ll understand intellectually why it took her so long to give me a chance, emotionally it will be a difficult thing to move past. But I believe that if something is good, it’s worth working on.

Perhaps I should savor these last few moments before my life changes forever. My days seem so simple. My bedroom seems so small. Hell, it’s smaller than my little brother’s room, even though my mom’s reasoning behind giving him the larger room after we moved into the new house was that I’m going to be going to college soon anyway, which, I mean, I don’t even know if I’m going to go away for college, so it literally doesn’t even make any sense.

Ah, it was a good, quiet start to life. But it will certainly be different from my life with Beyoncé.